


O Haunted Night

by erriikaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cabin Fic, Canon Universe, Christmas, Comfort, Established Relationship, Haunted Houses, I Tried, I don't know how to do scary, I'm afraid of everything, M/M, Post-Canon, Raes Secret Santa, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erriikaa/pseuds/erriikaa
Summary: After so many years in space, fighting a war, leading a rebellion, and being the literalsaviors of the universe,Lance and Keith need a break. It's Christmas Eve. They're a little late to the game, but they need a getaway, and they need itnow. Everything is booked, but they manage to find one last cabin in the snowy mountains still available for rent. And what better to celebrate a quiet, white Christmas than in an isolated cabin in the mountains?If only the cabin were actually unoccupied...
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	O Haunted Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drawmebabyblue](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=drawmebabyblue).



> This is a gift for @ drawmebabyblue on instagram and twitter !! She requested a spooky klance fic, which was certainly a challenge for me because I'm scared of literally everything, but it pushed me out of my comfort zone and I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope it gives at least a little spook, and I hope you like it, Blue!

“Thank you so much for taking us last minute.” Lance shakes the landlord’s hand, an old withered thing that’s merely weak bones wrapped in a thin layer of wrinkled skin. “ _Everywhere_ is booked by now. We’re really glad you had one more place available.” Lance releases his hand with a relieved sigh, taking a step back to give the main entrance of the cabin another once-over. 

It’s a quaint little place. One bed, one bath. Kitchen and living room. Minimalist furniture and vintage decorations. Weathered wood. Creaky stairs. Rusty door hinges. 

It’s not much. But it’s more than enough.

It resides high up in the snowy mountains, a forest of pristine white and green all around it. It’s a small, wooden thing, nearly identical to a dozen more cabins that line this side of the mountain. He and Keith passed them all on their way up here, cabins trailing all the way up to the highest habitable point of the mountain at five mile intervals. 

They’ve only been here for a few minutes and it already feels strange being so secluded. But hey, this is what they signed up for. What they _asked_ for. After so many years in space, fighting a war, leading a rebellion, and being the literal _saviors of the universe,_ he and Keith needed a break. Far away from trouble. Far away from noise. A quiet escape, just for a day or two over the holidays. 

It’s perfect, honestly. 

And Lance isn’t sure _how_ they managed to snag the last one when it’s already _Christmas Eve._

“Eh, don’t mention it.” The landlord’s voice sounds as ancient as he looks. “Nobody’s rented this here cabin fer years. Nobody ‘er wants it. Ye boys can stay as often as ye’d like. Don’t think anyone’ll fight ye fer it.” He tops off the sentence with a loud bark of a laugh, one that sounds far less amused than it does sardonic. 

Lance smiles, a responding laugh on the tip of his tongue to be polite. But he hesitates, brows pinching and eyes narrowing as his smile dims. “Wait— what do you mean by that?” 

The old man grunts with distaste. “Agh, it’s nothin’. Locals say the cabin’s _cursed,_ or some nonsense like that. Claim it’s bad luck ter stay here.” He takes a step out the door, looking out across the open skyline. He nods towards the horizon, not even a hundred feet away from where they stand, where the snowy yard abruptly ends, dropping right over the edge of a cliff. 

“It’s on the steepest part of the mountain after all,” he continues. “Ye might jus slip off the edge ‘n get carried away by the wind if ye aren’t careful.” He tosses the cabin keys at Lance, who flinches before fumbling to catch them. The landlord barks out a laugh as they land with a clank on the small porch steps. 

“Uh huh. I can see that much,” Lance says carefully. He shoots Keith an uncertain look as he bends to pick up the keys. “But why would they say it’s, like… _cursed?”_ When he stands again, the landlord waves an absent hand at him, already turning away. 

“Locals like ter talk. They make up stories of hauntin’s and horrors jus fer the fun of it.” He grunts in distaste. “Ye boys got nothin’ ter worry about. Two strong young lads’ll be jus fine. Not like that other youngin that one time, small little thing she was. Pity what happened to her up here—”

Lance hadn’t realized the old man was already walking back to his truck until he’s inside it and slamming the door shut, cutting out his voice with it. “Wait—” Lance calls after him, but it falls on deaf ears as the landlord revs the engine and pulls onto the road. 

Lance stares, dumbfounded. A mixture of too many emotions at once flooding his senses. Confusion, curiosity, apprehension, distaste— most of them unpleasant; he can tell that much at least. 

But then a warm hand finds its way into his own. He feels a gentle squeeze and turns his head to meet Keith’s eyes. 

“Hey. You ready to get settled?” Keith tugs lightly at his hand. 

“I don’t know…” Lance eyes the truck as it pulls away carelessly down the slick road. “That guy was kinda odd, don’t you think?” 

Keith gazes after the truck, looking entirely unbothered. “Well—” His expression scrunches as he considers. “I mean, _yeah._ But we’ve met a lot of odd people. Hell, we’ve met hundreds of odd _aliens.”_ The landlord’s truck disappears down the mountain, and Keith turns his attention back to Lance. “Odd people say odd things. He’s probably just spewing a bunch of bullshit.” 

Lance purses his lips as he considers. Because _yeah,_ Keith’s got a point there. They’ve met _far more_ than their fair share of strange beings in their time as paladins. Lance will be the first to admit that. In all honesty, this guy would be considered the epitome of normal in comparison. 

But still. It’s not exactly _comforting_ to hear the place you’ve just rented for the weekend may be haunted. Even if it is coming from someone who’s head might be a little loose. 

“Hey.” Keith’s voice, calm and collected, pulls him back into focus. He lifts their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss on the back of Lance’s palm. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with an easy smile. “We’re gonna have a great time here.”

And despite himself, Lance finds himself mirroring the smile. He may be a little hesitant. May be a little wary. May have a not-so-great gut feeling brewing about this place already. 

But he’s here with Keith. His ride-or-die. His partner in crime. His endgame. 

And that. That’s enough to put his uncertainty at ease. With a winning smile and his signature wink, he steps into the cabin, pressing into Keith’s warmth and letting the door fall closed behind them. 

“Hell yeah, we will.”

* * *

Considering their short stay, it doesn’t take long for them to get settled. What with only one duffle bag shared between the two of them, an armful of groceries for tonight’s party, and— oh, yeah— the _trunk full of Christmas gifts Lance needs to wrap for his endless extended family._

He’s just finished bringing the last gift inside, the wrapping supplies spread out all around him on the floor as he gets to work. His hands move on autopilot as he bangs them out, one after another. Cut. Fold. Tape. Repeat. He’s got a fool-proof routine, all his supplies within a fingertip’s reach, and he knows he’ll be done in no time. 

He’s on his tenth gift when his process gets disrupted. Wrapping paper folded neatly around the gift box, he reaches for the tape. Only when he does so, there’s nothing there. He feels around for the tape, knowing full well it should be in the general vicinity to his right. That’s where it’s been this whole time. Surely it couldn’t have gone too far. 

But when his hand still finds nothing, he gets confused. With a pinch in his brow, he turns his head to look, eyes scanning the area for the tape. His brow only pinches further when the tape still _isn’t there._

Where the hell did it go? 

With an agitated huff, he lets go of his neatly folded gift and stands up. He turns in a circle under himself, sifting his hands through all the supplies around him. “What the hell?” he mutters to himself when it’s made abundantly clear that the tape is nowhere in sight.

He purses his lips in suspicion, standing up once again and peering into the kitchen behind him, trying to catch a glimpse of the only possible culprit that could be responsible for the sudden disappearance. “Keith?” he calls accusingly. “Did you steal my tape?”

He waits for a few moments, but silence is the only response he gets. A breathy laugh escapes his lips as he rolls his eyes, padding out of the living room to go find the little tape thief wherever he may be. Keith has always been a stealthy one, but there’s not much room here for him to hide. 

Considering the cabin’s near nonexistent size, it doesn’t take Lance long to confirm that Keith isn’t on the first floor. With that confirmation, he wastes no time barreling up the stairs, a victorious grin already on his lips. 

“Keith? I know you’re up here.” He calls out through barely contained laughter. “Give me back my tape, you little shit.” 

When he reaches the top of the stairs, he rounds the corner to the bedroom. He makes it about half a step before he barrels right into Keith, sending them both toppling to the ground. He feels Keith’s arms tense around him as he hits the ground _hard,_ Lance landing unceremoniously on top of him. 

“Ow, _fuck,_ ” Keith grumbles in pain, muscles going limp once the shock of the impact fades. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he mutters in response, most of his fall having been broken by Keith’s body. “M’sorry. Are you hurt?”

Keith rests his arms around Lance’s back as he pushes himself up on his elbows to look at him. “No, I’m alright.”

“Hmm, then good.” Lance sits up abruptly, victorious smile back at full volume now that he knows Keith’s okay. “I caught you, _idiota_. You thought you could get away with it, but—” He pauses, just now noticing one out-of-place detail he overlooked during their pigpile. “Hang on. Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“Uh.” Keith looks down at his own bare chest like he’d forgotten it was there himself. Lance mirrors the action— and takes his damn time of it too— thoroughly appreciating the view despite his confusion. 

“Because I just got out of the shower?” Keith says it like a question, gesturing to his sopping wet hair and the towel wrapped around his lower half. 

Lance drags his hands appreciatively down Keith’s chest as he adjusts himself more firmly in his lap. “Hmm. Well, not that I’m _complaining_ about it—” He cuts himself off, something vaguely important nagging at the back of his mind. “Wait... did you just say you were in the shower?”

Keith eyes him with confusion. “Yeah?”

“So…” Lance is hesitant to ask, knowing full well what the answer is going to be and that he isn’t going to like it. “So then... you _didn’t_ steal my tape?”

“Steal your—” Keith’s eyes flick to the side as if he might find some clarification written on the walls. “Lance, what are you talking about?”

“Okayyy, _what the fuck?”_ Lance mutters more to himself than anyone as he woefully stands up from his boyfriend’s lap. Keith calls after him, confusion and concern clear in his voice as Lance abruptly turns and heads back downstairs, but Lance ignores him for the sake of pursuing some damn answers. Like maybe _where the fuck his tape went._

It couldn’t have just walked off on its own. If Keith didn’t have it, then what the hell happened to it? One second it was _right there_ beside him, and the next it simply wasn’t.

An unwelcome thought flickers across the back of his mind as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, but he quickly extinguishes it. People misplace things all the time. It’s a common mishap. Nothing else. 

But when he rounds the corner to the living room, he freezes. 

His cluster of wrapping supplies lie spread out in a circle on the floor. 

And sitting innocently in the middle of them all is the tape. 

* * *

“I swear, you guys. It just disappeared, and when I came back, it was sitting right there in the middle of everything!”

Pidge levels him with an unamused expression. “You were probably just sitting on it. You couldn’t find it because your fat ass was in the way.”

“I will gladly admit that yes, my ass is, in fact, large and luscious.” He ignores the soft chorus of groans his friends give in response. “But that’s not the point, _Pidge._ I looked _everywhere._ It was just gone. And when I came back, it wasn’t.”

“You sure you’re not just jumpy from all that _‘curse’_ crap the landlord was saying earlier?” Keith comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and hooking his chin over Lance’s shoulder. 

Lance leans back into the embrace, lips curling as he considers. “I mean— I guess? I don’t know… It was just— It was _weird,_ okay? _Really_ weird.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Keith turns his head, pressing a kiss against Lance’s neck. “Pidge is probably right. I mean, let’s be real. Pidge is _always_ right. You probably just sat on it or something.” He loosens his grip around Lance’s waist, sliding them firmly around to the back and grabbing a handful. “Not to mention the _great_ point she made about your ass.”

_“Hey!”_ Pidge yells around a mouthful of popcorn. “Stop being gross in front of me, Kogane.” She promptly takes off her shoe and throws it at him. 

Keith steps away from Lance to dodge the attack and takes a threatening step towards her. “What’re you gonna do to stop me, short-stuff?”

Without hesitation, she leaps up from the couch and launches herself at Keith, sending them both toppling to the ground in a heap of limbs. They wrestle around the floor, shooting a chorus of curses, insults, and laughter at each other. Half their friends immediately join in the chaos, cheering them on and placing bets while Shiro and Adam attempt (see: fail) to do damage control. 

Lance can’t help but laugh at the antics, feeling the tension slowly seep out of his shoulders as he watches the shitshow unfold. With a resigned sigh, he shuffles over to Pidge’s vacant spot on the couch and plops down next to Hunk. “Maybe I _am_ just being paranoid,” he says more to himself than anyone else. 

A comforting arm comes down across his shoulders and pulls him into a large, warm frame. “Don’t worry about it, buddy.” Hunk jostles his shoulders, and Lance curls further into the big guy’s side. “Same thing happens to me all the time. You _know_ how paranoid I get over, like, _everything.”_

Lance laughs, mind flooding with the countless memories of Hunk barging into his room or calling him in a panic over the most mundane things. A missing sock. A pair of rusty scissors. The innocent old woman who lives next door. 

“I guess you’ve got a point there.” He tilts his head up at Hunk, eyes squinting in accusation. “You’re rubbing off on me too much. How dare you give me your paranoid habits.”

“ _Hey,_ this isn’t my fault.”

“I don’t want your paranoia! Take it back!” Lance throws his head back like a child, flailing his limbs in Hunk’s grip to emphasise his mini tantrum. The arm around his shoulder instinctively tightens, but that doesn’t deter his dramatic petulance. He scrunches his face and tries his hardest to pout, to _really_ complete the tantrum effect, but he can’t quite rid the smile from his lips or the laughter from his voice. “How dare you do this to me. I thought you were my _friend._ This is treason of the highest order. Treason, I tell you!”

“Lance, no! I didn’t mean it.” Hunk struggles against Lance’s flailing limbs, trying to hold him at bay, but he can’t get a grip between Lance’s thrashing and his own laughter. “Agh— Jesus, Lance, how the hell are you so _slippery._ C’mon, I’m sorry! Let me make it up to you.”

Lance doesn’t stop his tantrum— he’s not deterred _that_ easily— but his flailing lessens significantly as his curiosity is piqued. “How?”

Hunk takes a moment to breathe before a knowing smile curls his lips. “Well… I know exactly what will cheer you up. My good sir, I believe it’s time for a certain gift-giving action to take place. And _maybe_ you have an _incredible_ gift already waiting for you.” He looks away, feigning innocence with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s possible, but I guess we’ll just have to wait and see…”

Lance sits up with a start, tantrum instantly forgotten. “Hunk. My buddy. My man. My bestest, most wonderful friend in the whole wide world. Say no more.”

In an instant he’s on his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. He cups his hands around his mouth. “Alright, listen up nerds.” When a dozen heads turn his way, he lowers his hands and flashes them all with his signature smirk. “You know what fuckin’ time it is.”

The secret santa gift exchange is hands-down Lance’s favorite part of the holiday season. The gang does it every year, and it always ends with a gift-giving party on Christmas Eve night. This year he and Keith decided to host from their sweet little rented cabin in the mountains. It’s turned out to be a great spot. Fits the Christmas vibe perfectly. A quaint and cozy place for their small friend group to gather. 

They’re sprawled out around the small living room, every chair and couch occupied and several more spots in between on the floor. A single fire beneath the chimney casts large shadows dancing across the room. It’s not exactly as bright as they’re used to, what with the spotty electricity, but it’s enough. It’s warm. Gentle. Cozy. A perfect setting for their holiday tradition of exchanging gifts and revealing their secret santa identities. 

Not that their identities ever remain a secret for long. They have yet to last more than a week before someone either spills the beans or somehow figures out who everyone has (*cough* _Pidge_ *cough*). And that’s exactly how he ended up here, knowing full well that Hunk is his secret santa this year, and that Hunk _always_ gets the best gifts. Lance has been itching to open his gift for _weeks._

“Okay. losers. You all know the drill. Circle up.” Lance walks into the center of the room, where Keith lies face down on the floor with a victorious Pidge perched smugly on his back. “Move it, Pidgeon. Time for presents. Wrestling match is over.”

“You’re damn right it’s over.” Pidge jumps up with a grin, stepping over Keith as she takes back her place on the couch. “It was over before it even started.”

Lance looks down at his lifeless boyfriend and nudges his side with his foot. 

Keith reluctantly rolls over, meeting his eyes with a pout. “You didn’t help me. I was defending the honor of your ass and you left me here to die.”

Lance smiles, a barely contained laugh held at the back of his throat. “Sorry, baby,” he says, though there isn’t an ounce of sympathy in his voice. “You chose to provoke the gremlin. I can’t be responsible for your poor decisions.”

Keith simply pouts harder, looking all the more like a disgruntled cat in his heap on the ground. Lance’s laughter bursts free as Keith struggles his way up from the ground, with far more drama than necessary, grumbling something about betrayal as he dejectedly takes a seat by the fireplace. 

“Okay, guys.” He claps his hands together as they all take a seat in a circle around him. “Time for the headcount.”

“Lance, we know everyone’s here already. We don’t need to do a—”

“Uh bub bub.” He cuts Keith off with a wave of his hand and a disapproving frown. “If we’re gonna do this then we’re gonna do it _right._ No man left behind. No present left unopened.”

The look Keith gives him is entirely unamused, but Lance knows it’s just a cover. There’s a fondness hidden somewhere in there. He can tell by the way his eyes hold no heat. By the way he doesn’t clap back with a retort. By the way he simply leans back in his chair, giving up his protest with ease to let Lance do his thing. 

Because really, Keith is a sucker for making Lance happy. He may never openly admit it. But he doesn’t need to. Lance knows.

With a satisfied grin Lance nods and points at him. “And I’m starting with you, baby.” He shoots his boyfriend a wink before shifting his gaze next to him, now pointing at Romelle and mentally incrementing a counter. He quickly picks his way around the circle, counting every head he sees along the way. 

His excitement bubbles higher in his veins with each passing second, threatening to boil over any minute as his fingers itch to get a hold of a present. The shadowed faces of his friends blur as he speed-counts in the dim firelight. He nearly pounces on the pile of presents the moment he’s finished counting, but he stops himself, brows pinched and lips curling. 

“Wait. How the fuck did I just count thirteen people?” He announces it to the room, confusion clear in his voice, though it’s more rhetorical than anything. Clearly he miscounted in his haste. That much is obvious, but… Sure, he was counting fast, but he _swears_ he counted thirteen heads.

“There are only twelve people here, genius.” Veronica meets his pout with a smirk. “Just because you counted yourself twice doesn’t mean you get two presents.”

“I _know that,_ Ronnie. And I _didn’t_ count myself twice.” He’s quick to retort, knowing full well he only counted himself once. But then again… How else would he have counted thirteen people?

Damn. He really is off his rocker today, huh?

He shrugs to himself. “Alright, fine. I’ll recount,” he grumbles, already beginning the count and starting with Veronica this time. He makes a point to only count himself once at the end, but when he gets around to it, he comes up with thirteen once again.

“Okay, what the fuck. I _swear_ I didn’t double-count myself this time.” He meets Veronica’s eyes, daring her to challenge his claim, though she simply raises a brow. “I _know_ I counted thirteen heads.” 

“Oh my _god.”_ Pidge groans from where she sits behind him, and he whips around to face her. “At this rate we’ll never get to open our gifts.” She stands from her perch on the couch and scurries over to him. “C’mon, Lancey Lance, let’s count together,” she coos, all mockery to which Lance responds with a glare. “It’s not hard. Ready?” She grabs his hand and points to Hunk. “ _One._ C’mon, count with me. _Two. Three.”_

Lance rolls his eyes at the antics, but follows along anyway. She can mock him all she wants. He _knows_ there were thirteen heads here. 

They pick their way around the circle, slower this time, pointing and pausing for an unnecessary amount of time at each one of their friends as they count. This time he actually meets their eyes as he goes, each one of them staring up at him with varying degrees of mirth, the jerks. 

“Nine. Ten. Eleven. _Twelve.”_ Pidge pauses as they finish, peering up at Lance with a knowing smirk. 

Okay… _what the fuck?_ Lance _knows_ he counted thirteen. He did. _Twice._

“No,” he mutters to himself, though he knows Pidge can hear. “No, I _swear_. I counted _thirteen people.”_

Pidge reaches up and flicks his cheek with a laugh. “You drink too much.”

He swats her hand away with a gasp. “I do _not!_ I’m telling you, Pidge. I counted right!”

“Sure you did.” She waves an absent hand at him, already walking back to her place in the circle. 

“Wait, Pidge.” It’s Shiro who speaks up this time from across the circle. His face scrunches as he watches her take a seat on the couch once again. “When did you move over there?”

Pidge raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You were sitting right next to me a minute ago.” He points a thumb over his shoulder to a small gap on the floor between where he sits and the coffee table. “I just didn’t see when you moved to the couch.”

“What’re you talking about?” She looks at him as if he has ten heads. “I wasn’t sitting next to you. I’ve been on the couch this whole time.”

“What?” He glances at the vacant spot beside him, too small for anyone other than Pidge to sit comfortably. “Someone was just sitting here. I thought it was you.”

Pidge shakes her head. “Nope.”

Shiro glances warily around the room. “So… none of you were just sitting here a minute ago?”

The responding silence is heavy. Nothing but blank stares and some shaking heads in response. 

After a moment, Hunk lets out a forced laugh. “Alright, I think we’ve all had enough eggnog for tonight.”

Pidge snorts. “Either that or Lance is just dumb and Shiro is just old. Both are equally likely.”

_“Hey!”_ Lance and Shiro both complain at the same time. 

One by one they all jump on Pidge’s lead, teasing and throwing jabs at Lance and Shiro both. They’re relentless, going so far as to act out being elderly and frail or entirely forgetting how to count. 

It’s enough to get them all laughing again, and it slowly has the warmth seeping back into the room as they settle in to open gifts. 

But no matter how much they tease. No matter how much they laugh. No matter how much logic tells him everything is alright. Lance can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously off. 

He _knows_ he saw a thirteenth person. 

And he knows Shiro saw it too. 

* * *

Lance flinches as a pair of arms wrap around his waist. It’s only a moment later, when he realizes they belong to Keith, that he settles into the embrace and the warmth of the body behind him. 

Keith turns his head into Lance’s neck, burying his face and placing a lingering kiss against his pulse. “Hey. You okay?” His breath is warm where he mumbles against Lance’s skin. But it’s not quite enough to chase away the chill that’s followed him since he stepped foot in this cabin.

“I don’t know.” He tries to find the words to describe what he’s feeling, but comes up empty-handed. He shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

In an instant, Keith shifts his grip around Lance’s waist, walking around to face him. He meets Lance’s eyes with a fierce intensity, all seriousness and an undertone of concern. “Lance. _Nothing_ is stupid if it’s something that’s bothering you.” His gaze softens then and so does his voice. “Tell me.”

Lance releases a shaky breath, eyes falling shut. “It’s… hard to explain. I just feel like I’ve been on edge ever since we got here. And I _know_ I’m just being paranoid, but… I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right here.”

“Not right how?”

“Like—” Lance takes a breath, scouring his chaos of thoughts for actual _words._ “Like when you’re in a crowded room and you get that feeling you’re being watched. You don’t know _how_ you know, but when you look up, sure enough you catch someone looking at you just before they turn away.” He opens his eyes, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s like I’ve had that feeling _all day,_ except this time nobody’s actually there watching me.”

Keith looks at him intently, not a trace of judgement or mockery in sight. Only careful consideration. 

Now that he’s started, Lance can’t stop the words from continuing to spill. “It’s like— y’know the thing with the tape? I thought you were watching me from right around the corner just to mess with me, but you weren’t. And then later during secret santa, it felt like there really _was_ a thirteenth person there with us. And then after that when I went to fill my drink in the kitchen, I _swear_ I heard someone follow me in, but everyone was still sitting by the couches. And even just now when I was brushing my teeth, I thought I saw your shadow behind me in the mirror, but when I turned around you were standing in the bedroom instead. I just—” A frustrated huff escapes his lips. “I feel like I’m losing my mind here.”

Keith steps forward then, pressing in close and wrapping him up tight. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re not losing your mind. Not gonna lie, this place _is_ lowkey kinda creepy.” His voice is reassuring. Comforting in it’s stability. “We can always just leave. First thing tomorrow, if you want.”

Lance pouts slightly, not exactly _upset_ with the idea, but— “But what about our Christmas getaway? I don’t want to make us cut it short after only one day just because I’m seeing things that _clearly aren’t there.”_

“Lance, you have the sharpest eye out of anyone. If you’re seeing things, it’s probably because they’re actually there. Besides, what’s the point of a getaway if you can’t enjoy it?”

And well. He’s got a point there. 

Still, Lance hesitates. 

“We don’t have to decide now.” Keith gives a tight squeeze before dropping his arms. “It’s late. Let’s get some rest and see how we feel in the morning, okay?” 

Lance nods as he pulls away, but not before planting a chaste kiss firmly on his boyfriend’s lips. He wastes no time crawling into bed, Keith in tow settling in right behind him. “Y’know, now that I think about it.” He lays down with a sigh, eyes heavy as Keith drapes the blanket over them. “Even if there is something weird going on here,” he says, words slurred with sleep. “It’s Christmas Eve. That means Santa’s coming tonight. He’ll protect us.” 

He can practically _hear_ the eyeroll Keith gives in response, and Lance counts that a success. He can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. 

“I still can’t believe you _actually_ left milk and cookies out by the chimney.”

“It’s tradition, _Keith._ Santa is a busy and hungry man. Everyone knows he needs his cookie fill.”

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Lance tries to gasp in mock offense, but it’s stolen by a yawn. “At least I’m not the weirdo who insists on keeping the window open in the _middle of winter.”_ As if on cue, a gust of wind blows in through said open window, and Lance shivers as the cold wisps of air graze his face. “Seriously, do you _want_ me to freeze to death.”

“No.” Keith shuffles closer, draping an arm around Lance’s middle and pressing his warm body against the entire length of Lance’s back. “That’s what you have me for. I keep you warm.”

“Mhm. You’re lucky you’re cute,” Lance grumbles into the pillow. He can feel Keith smile where his lips are pressed against the back of his neck. 

“You know you love me.” He purses his lips, pressing a quick kiss against Lance’s skin. “Now get some sleep.”

And that he does, nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow, sleep already taking hold of his senses. Despite the events of the day, it doesn’t take long for him to fully succumb.

But it feels like only a moment passes before he’s pulled back into consciousness. It’s not gradual, like the lazy rise of a Sunday morning. It’s abrupt, leaving him groggy and confused as the sweet haze of sleep is ripped away from him. His brows pinch as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and squints at the time, reading nearly three o’clock in the morning. Next to him, Keith stirs, eyes already flickering open.

He licks his lips, prepping his sleep-dried mouth to ask what the fuck woke them up when a loud thud rings out from somewhere beneath them. He freezes, eyes shooting wide as he stares at Keith. The noise is followed by an eerie silence, in which Lance hears nothing but the steadily increasing pounding of his own heart. 

He stares at Keith with bated breath for what feels like an eternity before another thud replaces the silence. It’s loud and out of place. Not enough to strictly warrant alarm, but certainly enough to be unwelcomed. This time it’s followed by a series of quieter noises. Some shuffling. A bump here. A bang there. All the while Lance’s death grip on Keith’s hand grows tighter. 

One final thud, nearly identical to the first two, rings out before throwing them back into silence. Keith meets Lance’s gaze, and Lance can feel how tense he is beside him. 

_“Whatthefuckwasthat?”_ Lance hisses. 

“It’s nothing,” Keith whispers, though he sounds like he’s still trying to convince himself. “We’re in an old cabin on a mountain. Noises like this happen all the time.” But that doesn’t stop him from mentally gearing up for a fight. Lance can tell by the way his muscles tense. His posture stiffens. His eyes squint in concentration, listening for anymore signs of unnatural motion. 

But Lance hears none. They’re thrown into silence once again, and despite Lance’s heavy beating heart, he follows Keith’s lead and tries to ignore it. “You’re right,” he breathes in a shaken whisper. “It’s probably nothing. Let’s just go back to—”

“Wait, shh.” Keith’s brows pinch.

“What?” And _god_ if that doesn’t send Lance’s heart rate sky-rocketing immediately. “Keith, what is it?”

“You don’t hear that?”

Lance listens, hearing nothing but the howling wind and the blood pounding in his ears. “No. What is it? Keith, what’s wrong?” Lance sits up, stomach twisting as Keith follows suit, craning his neck as if to listen harder. Keith did always have better hearing than him, weird Galra genetics and all. Usually Lance finds them cool, his mildly hyperactive senses. But now? Now he _really_ wishes Keith couldn’t hear… whatever it is he’s hearing. 

“It sounds like… singing?” He pauses, tilting his head towards what Lance presumes is the sound. “Like… like a child caroling.” 

Lance strains to listen once again, but hears nothing. “Where is it coming from?” He silently prays to anything that will listen that Keith is just imagining it. He’s pretty sure it falls on deaf ears.

Keith turns his gaze to the window, eyeing the open gap. “Just outside, I think.”

And _fuck_ is Lance glad to hear that answer. If Keith had said literally anywhere inside, Lance nearly would’ve jumped out the damn window. He’s not trying to be possessed by some murderous singing doll that was abandoned here 20 years ago or some shit. Hell fucking no. Hard pass. 

He deflates in relief, albeit only a little. “Well, that’s not too strange then, right?” It’s a reach, but at this point he’s desperate. “Some kid in one of the other cabins is singing Christmas carols while they wait for Santa to come. Their voice is just carrying on the wind.”

“From five miles away? And at this time of night?” Keith looks far from convinced, eyeing the open window with apprehension. He leans his ear closer. “She’s not singing now. I think she’s laughing. It sounds like a little girl.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Little girl? As in _the landlord said something bad happened to a little girl here and now the locals say it’s cursed?_ That kind of a little girl?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Blanket thrown aside, he’s out of bed in an instant, all but running to the window. “You don’t think she could’ve been _left_ here, do you?” He peers down to the yard below, eyes frantically searching for a frightened young girl, probably damn near starving and hypothermic by now. He _knew_ he saw someone else in the house earlier. Mother-hen instincts kicked up to a maximum, he scans the ground, but finds nothing. Not a single footprint in the fresh snow beneath the moonlight. 

Keith comes up behind him, peering over his shoulder. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t the landlord have found her? And didn’t he say nobody’s stayed here for _years?”_ He pulls away from the window, turning his gaze to Lance. “She probably would’ve died by now. Or if by some miracle she didn’t, wouldn’t she be older now?”

Lance deflates, pulling away from the window. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” His lips curl. “I don’t know why I thought…”

“It’s alright. Besides—” His eyes flicker to the window once again, brows pinched. “The voice has stopped now. I’m honestly not even sure if I just imagined it.” He scratches a nervous hand behind his neck. “I mean, it’s late, we’ve had a weird day, and _you_ couldn’t hear it so… I don’t know.”

Lance’s lips harden into a flat line. He reaches up and pulls the window firmly shut, peering up at Keith as it clicks in place. “For good measure.”

Keith nods, and they turn away from the window with at least some temporary sense of resolve. But when Lance looks across the room as he turns, he sees a figure staring back at him. 

He nearly jumps out of his own skin, body tensing and eyes shooting wide as his heart rate spikes. It’s only half a second later as he stares down the figure in a panic that he realizes it’s from his own reflection in a mirror hanging innocently on the opposite wall. 

Lance places a hand over his chest, breathing in deep in a futile attempt to settle his heart rate. 

God, he really is losing it. He needs to go back to sleep. Needs it _now_ before he gives himself a damn heart attack. Get some rest and rid himself of these _mind games._

He grabs Keith’s wrist and drags him back over to the bed, curling up in his arms and shoving his face back into the pillow. If he just ignores all the noises. If he forgets the events of today. If he wills away the bad gut feeling that’s now bordering on panic. Then maybe, _just maybe_ he can actually get some sleep. 

Too bad he knows none of that will happen. 

This is going to be a long night. 

* * *

By the time the sun rises, the bags under Lance’s eyes dip far into his cheeks. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he looks like shit. He can feel it in the way his skin sags. The way his muscles droop. The way his eyes burn, his head spins, and his lips curl.

But alas, the sun is shining and sparkling against the fresh snow on the mountainside. Today is finally Christmas. And like _hell_ is he going to let one sleepless night ruin his favorite day of the year. 

With all the energy he can muster, he throws the blanket aside, grabbing a sleepy Keith by the hand and tugging him out of bed with him. He doesn’t bother to dress or brush his teeth or comb his hair. There’s no time for that when presents await. And _god_ does he need presents after the hell he lived yesterday. 

They bound down the stairs, Keith tripping and laughing in his equally groggy state as he stumbles after him. “Lance, wait,” he calls between laughs. “Slow _down._ The presents are still gonna be there a minute from now.”

And well… At the rate their stay here has been going, Lance wouldn’t even be surprised if they weren’t. 

But he doesn’t dwell on that. Not now when it’s finally Christmas morning and they have the hope of turning a new leaf with this place. 

They scurry over to the fireplace where their gifts await. Scooping them up, they pass their gifts to each other and settle on the couch to open them. 

But just as Lance is about to open his first gift, something catches his eye. The glass of milk and plate of cookies that he set out by the fireplace last night. The dishes sit exactly where he left them, only the milk has been drunk and the cookies eaten. 

A fondness bubbles in his chest as he smiles at his boyfriend. “Awww, _Keith._ You ate the milk and cookies for me to make it look like Santa came?” He coos, leaning into Keith’s frame. “That’s so _cute.”_

Keith stares at him mindlessly, and Lance can practically _see_ the gears turning behind his head as he desperately tries to wake up his brain. “But… wait, no. I didn’t eat them.”

“Oh, right. _Of course.”_ Lance plays along, grin spreading wider. “It wasn’t you. It was obviously Santa. How silly of me.”

Keith turns his gaze, eyeing the empty plate, sleep starting to clear from his eyes. “No, really, Lance. That wasn’t me.” If there’s any sarcasm in his voice, he hides it well. “I’m lactose intolerant, remember? Why would I drink an entire glass of milk?”

Lance pauses, apprehension quickly growing in his gut. “You... poured it down the drain then?”

Keith shakes his head slowly, and Lance knows he isn’t joking. Keith actually didn’t touch the cookies. And Lance _knows_ it wasn’t himself who touched them either. 

He almost wants to laugh. Almost. Because really? They haven’t even been here a full 24 hours yet and he feels like he’s been living in an endless state of déjà vu. Or he’s part of some prank show. Or in a mediocre horror film. Maybe all of the above.

There’s no use saying it when he knows the answer, but he’s not sure what else to do, body stiff and frozen on the couch. “So… you didn’t eat them… and _I_ didn’t eat them…”

Something shatters suddenly in the kitchen behind them, cutting him short. Lance spasms at the noise, and it’s more than enough to kick his fight-or-flight instincts into full gear. 

“Okay, nope. No, fuck this shit.” He’s on his feet before his brain can even register it, far too preoccupied with _whatever the fuck_ has been going on here. “I’ve had enough of this goddamn place. Keith, I don’t know if I’m just going crazy or what, but I’m getting the hell out of here.” He’s already halfway up the stairs, taking them three at a time as his heart thunders in his chest. Keith is right behind him the whole way, looking no less panicked than Lance feels. 

Lance has never moved faster in his life. They’re packed up, bags and presents in hand in a record 95 seconds. Cabin a mess, keys abandoned, and door unlocked, they all but sprint to the car, shoving their bags and bodies into it and slamming the doors shut. 

Maybe it’s just a number of coincidences. Maybe Lance has been on edge over nothing. Maybe he’s seeing things. Maybe someone is playing tricks on him. 

Or _maybe_ there really is something haunted about this place. 

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t _care_. Whatever the case, he wants out. 

His heart still thunders in his chest as Keith backs them out of the driveway. He can’t help but watch over his shoulder as they pull onto the road, carefully eyeing the cabin lest someone or some _thing_ chase them out. 

But nothing comes. The door stays shut, just as they left it. 

He’s about to turn around, forget the damned place for good as they carefully drive away, but something catches his eye, glinting in the sunlight. 

Leading out the side door of the cabin is a fresh trail of footprints. Far too small to belong to any adult. Scattered across the yard. Crisp and clear against the otherwise untouched snow. 

And if Lance looks closely— if he _really_ squints— he can almost see the image of a girl above them, shimmering in the morning mist. Her footprints carry her all the way across the yard. 

Then right over the edge of the cliff.


End file.
